Out of Time, Out of Luck
by Hive Mentality
Summary: Jensen's trapped, and he knows that he can't talk his way out of this one. This will be the best preformance of his life, and the last, because he knows he can still save them. First and second chapter are sad. NOW FINISHED.
1. Out of Time, Out of Luck

**This wasn't actually supposed to be a Loser's story, or a death fic, but the prompt "trail" kind of got a mind of its own the moment I connected "trail" to "time trial" and "time trial" to "bomb". So yeah, kind of depressing.**

**Warning: A death fic for anyone who isn't stubbornly optimistic/waiting for a continuation, so don't like, don't read. Also has some strong language.**

**Out of Time, Out of Luck**

He was running out of time. He hadn't expected any kind of security system here—in the middle of a residential area for god's sakes—and he certainly wasn't looking for any traps. He didn't realize to what extent these people would go—Max would go—to keep his information out of their hands. Who would have thought that they would have anything here, ready for him—let alone a bomb?

So when he ran gung-ho into the room that he had _thought _would contain the company's main computer, and the door had swung automatically behind him, he was sort of confused. It wasn't until the tumblers clicked closed and the red light of the timer blinked on that Jensen realized his mistake.

He'd underestimated them, and had gotten a kick in the ass for it. And the problem was, he didn't have any way to fix this—he was helpless. His eyes flicked over the timer, followed the wires across the ceiling and into the plaster wall, and he knew that there was no way that he would be able to disarm the weapon. The timer glowed menacingly as it kept ticking slowly onward and all he could do was watch, accepting, as the numbers dropped second by second toward zero.

And he wasn't worried, either—which struck him as odd. Hell, he should be freaking out, begging for his life and calling for one of the team to come and try to save him, even though he knew that they wouldn't make it in time. It was amazing how easily he came to terms with dying because, although he'd done it plenty of times before, this was the first time he'd ever done it alone. He'd struggled with the door for a moment, and then quickly realized that there was no way to open them without access to the computer that controlled their locking mechanism. Despite this, he didn't immediately call for backup.

Still, he felt little concern for his own well-being, despite his best judgment. Maybe it was just because his situation was glaringly bleak, but all he could think about was the rest of his team. He was on the top floor of the building; they were waiting on ground level, keeping an eye out for trouble. So when the bomb went off, all eight floors of the building would come crashing down on top of them—especially if they didn't run as soon as the bomb exploded.

Jensen knew, as he pulled his radio from its case and turned it on, that if he told his team what was happening, they wouldn't run—they'd all die, trying to save his stupid ass. So, there wasn't much he could do, really. He'd gotten a little rusty, sure—he said so himself, that he used to be better—but Jensen also knew that this would be, beyond a doubt, the best performance of his life.

He pressed down the button, drew in a breath, and screamed.

The timer flashed: one minute.

"Fuck, what is it?!" he heard Clay through the radio—he sounded somewhat irritated— and wasted no time in responding.

Fifty-seven seconds.

"I need backup!" Jensen shouted, and he had to admit, it _did _sound convincing. There was confirmation from Clay's end—he assured Jensen that they were coming up. "No!" Jensen said, cutting him off, a bit too quickly, he noted "different building—roof-hopped, I'm a quarter of a click North." He held his breath, hoping—_praying—_that they would believe him.

"We're on our way. Give us forty seconds."

Jensen glanced at the clock again. Forty-five seconds left.

Jensen didn't respond, sliding down by the door to sit on the ground. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the door. What he wouldn't give to watch one more of his niece's soccer games. He'd sell his soul for a chance to say good bye… good luck.

Jensen watched the timer go down, with each passing moment feeling like an eternity. He felt a pang of guilt for leaving his friends behind, until finally, when the timer hit five seconds, the radio came on again. Like clockwork.

"Where the hell are you, Jensen?" That was Pooch.

Three seconds.

Jensen couldn't bring himself to lie again. Then again, it didn't really matter anymore. He smiled sadly and pressed the button on his radio.

"I never left the building…" He mumbled, "Sorry." And he let the radio slide from his fingers. It clattered loudly to the floor between his knees, where it lay, broadcasting Clay's protests as he demanded an explanation.

One second.

**That's right, this is a death fic. Probably. I may consider writing some kind of conclusion/alternate happy ending but… I'm kind of fond of the angst. Then again, my sister is definitely rooting for a happy ending, sooo... if we do make one, it'll pick up right where we left off! Thoughts? Please review!**


	2. No Answer

**I've noticed that these chapters are turning out to be quite short…However, I have the story divided up into different events and view points, so I suppose that's the way it's going to be… Sorry about that, but for those of you who want a happy ending… There are two other chapters coming after this one!**

"I need backup!" The radio blared, and Pooch and Aisha immediately opened the duffel bags containing their weapons. Clay felt his heart begin to pump—he'd done this too many times to count, but it never got any easier. Whatever was going on, it was obviously enough to scare the shit out of Jensen, and that was serious enough for him. He didn't sound out of breath, Clay noted as he grabbed a spare magazine for his weapon. He must have holed up somewhere. Pooch and Aisha followed suit by loading their weapons and glancing around the street to make sure they weren't being watched. Clay snatched up his radio.

"All right, stay put. We're coming—"

"No! Different building—roof-hopped, I'm a quarter of a click North." Clay turned to the other two, who threw open the doors of the van.

"We're on our way. Give us forty seconds." Clay jumped out of the van, his feet hitting the pavement in a chorus with the others' as they all began the dash for the building, throwing "inconspicuous" to the wayside in the process. He ran across the street and into the building's shadow, watching as Aisha ran in through the front entrance. He and Pooch circled around the back and slipped in through the back door. They were already up the first leg of the stairs by the time the door sighed shut behind them.

They met up with Aisha on the third floor. She had cut through the cubicles under the guise of being very late for a meeting—she'd even dressed the part, though she'd ditched the heels she'd been running in by the time they reached the fifth floor.

Hours must have passed by the time they reached the last set of stairs—at least, that was what it felt like, because in all the time that they had taken to get through the building, the radio had been completely silent. They all knew that Jensen would keep talking right into the grave; needless to say, the silence was unnerving.

Pooch bolted straight for the door, grappled for the handle, then resigned to kicking it open—Clay was oddly relieved that he wasn't the only one who never really got used to this. They stepped onto the roof, guns drawn and fingers tense on the triggers.

It was empty.

Clay swore and turned rapidly, but found no one. Pooch pulled out his radio. "Where the hell are you, Jensen?" The response was mumbled, and the effect on the group was chilling:

"I never left the building… Sorry." The words sounded empty, resigned. They heard the radio clatter to the floor before it went quiet.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Clay shouted. There was no response. "Answer me God damnit! _Jensen_! Shit." Clay threw his radio in frustration. He ran a hand through his hair. "We need to get over there, right _fucking now._" Pooch and Aisha nodded, and the three turned their backs to the building and began heading for the door just as a bright flash of light painted their shadows across the roof. The roar of the explosion hit them along with the shock wave given off by the blast—it nearly took them off their feet.

Clay turned to watch in horror as the building shook violently, rocked by the explosion, and began to collapse in a fiery heap. The scene looked like it was straight from an action flick, but the director had forgotten to add the "and the good guy got away" ending. Pooch was screaming, but he couldn't tell what he was saying—it was as though he was at the end of a long tunnel. Aisha, who usually held herself in a collected manor, clasped her hands over her mouth as though it would keep the horrified scream from escaping.

Clay stared at the building until the cloud of dust and ash surrounding it began to fade. He swallowed dryly. Jensen knew. He fucking _knew_ this would happen, and like a God damn fool, he'd tried to protect them instead of calling for help.

He dropped to his knees and moaned, wiping the dust from his face. He stayed like that for a long moment before a thought struck him, and he quickly dropped his hand from his face.

"Where's Cougar?" Pooch turned to look at Clay. His eyes were glazed, as though he didn't understand the question. Clay repeated what he said, shouted it—not because he didn't think he could hear him, but because he couldn't do anything else. Pooch nodded and grasped his radio.

"Cougar." A pause, "Cougar… Answer, God damn it, Cougar, please." Pooch said. He waited, and then shook his head, disbelieving, "He's not answering." Pooch dropped the radio.

**Let me know what you think. If you want to stick with the angst-y ending, this is where you get off. For everyone else, two more chapters~! Please review.**


	3. Murphy's Law

**Here's the next dramatic installment -insert soap opera intro-. Only one more to go after this, folks! Again, apologies for the length. Its. Too. Short. Gah, that annoys me… XS**

Cougar lay with his pack and radio next to him, peering through the scope of his rifle. The building he was on top of was empty—it was scheduled for demolition soon, so there was no chance of anyone accidentally running into him. Because of this, he was able to set up in the best location, directly south of the building Jensen was in, that allowed him to see the entirety of the building's south side. Separating the building he was on and the building Jensen was in was only a shoddy alley. The gap was something he was sure he could clear with ease, especially since his building was taller than the other.

The moment Jensen shouted for backup, Cougar was poised and ready with his rifle. He scanned the windows on his half of the building for signs of movement as Clay informed Jensen that they were on their way. Cougar couldn't see Jensen—most of the windows had their blinds drawn, while other rooms were empty—and he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous.

"No! Different building—roof-hopped, I'm a quarter of a click North." His radio crackled. Cougar's head shot up, a confused expression on his face. The roof of the building was empty—he was sure that he wouldn't have missed someone coming up through the only entrance to the roof, and he definitely would have seen Jensen if he had jumped onto another building while being pursued. Cougar looked to the building to the North. It was the same height as his—one story higher than the building Jensen was on.

Cougar snatched his rifle off of the stand and took a running leap at the gap separating his and Jensen's building. He made the leap with ease, rolled, and skidded to a halt. Cougar threw his weight against the door. The lock broke—no one ever put big money into a lock for the rooftop—and the door banged loudly against the wall.

Jensen wasn't stupid—there's no way he would have gotten the direction wrong, even if he had been able to hop to another building without Cougar noticing. No, Jensen was definitely giving them the wrong information on purpose. And, knowing him, he was doing something reckless _right now_, all while thinking that it was the right, and only, plan of action.

Cougar jumped down the entire flight of stairs and took off down the hall. He expected some sort of resistance—he wasn't exactly quiet upon entering—but there was none. No gunfire, shouting—nothing. The hall was completely empty, besides the sound of his own footsteps. He quickened his pace. Rounding a corner, a familiar face caught his eye.

Cougar pushed open the door—labeled "Janitor's Closet"—that had been left open in the former occupant's haste to flee. On the desk in the room was a screen showing a live feed of Jensen, sitting on the floor, holding a radio. Next to him was a clock with a bright digital display.

Not a clock. A timer, counting down from ten. Cougar's head shot to the side, where he saw the large mass of wires protruding from the wall in such a way that showed that it had been a last-minute addition to the room. It went over to the next room—that had to be where Jensen was.

Cougar grabbed for his radio, intending to ask Jensen how to stop it. He grasped at air, realizing it was still sitting on his bag, on the other roof. There was no time to go back for it.

"Where the hell are you, Jensen?" Cougar heard, and for a moment he thought that Pooch was in the building too. Instead, Jensen grabbed his radio. Three seconds.

"I never left the building…" Two. God damn it. "Sorry." Cougar looked around, uncharacteristically frantic, before hoisting his gun up and firing once, then three more times rapidly at the computer, praying that he would be graced with a miracle.

He paused for a long moment before finally turning to look at the screen again. It was spitting sparks, but it was off. He turned to the bomb. No explosion. Good. Really, really good. Cougar breathed a sigh of relief before a muffled crackling caught his attention. He turned to the source of the sound.

Fire. _Next to the bomb._

"Dios _maldita_ sea." He shouted, as ran for the door, kicking it closed behind him.

**For those of you who are interested, that phrase means God damn it. Probably. I don't really speak Spanish, so I may be wrong. On another note, I used the Spanish because I figure that when swearing he would be more inclined to use Spanish (at least when he's really stressed). Please review, let me know what you think!**


	4. Where's the Fire?

**I apologize for the wait, but this is the final part, so please, enjoy! **

"Sorry." Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the bomb, more out of reflex than anything else, because turning away wasn't going to do him any good.

_Thump. ThumpThumpThump. _

Well, that was a lot…quieter than he'd expected. Actually, that didn't sound like an explosion at all, that sounded more like firecrackers—tiny explosions muffled by the walls.

Sincerely hoping that the timer had been counting down for a firecracker's fuse, he stood and took a step toward the wall, straining to hear. The radio had gone silent, which probably meant that Clay was on his way. The doorknob rattled.

"Jensen." The sound was muffled through the heavy door, barely audible, and although Jensen could tell it was Cougar, he could barely make out what he was saying. …the door? Something about the door… _Get away from the—_

A gunshot rang through the room and Jensen reeled back in surprise, landing with his back against the wall, as the bullet lodged itself in the wall opposite the entryway. Cougar had kicked the now broken lock open before Jensen could even register that he'd shot it. He was across the room in a moment, pulling him up by his collar, urging him to move.

"What the hell was that? You almost took me out! Not that I wasn't already—" Cougar cut him off by pushing him through the door.

"Hey, where's the fire?" Jensen asked jokingly. Cougar gave him a look as they took off down the hall.

"Next to the bomb." Cougar replied. Jensen blanched.

"You're shitting me." Cougar didn't respond this time, instead rounding a corner to reach another short stretch of hallway. The end of the hall opened to the room holding the building's elevators, and sporting a large window. "There's no way out through there! It's not like we have time to wait for the elevators."

Cougar raised his rifle and fired through the window. "Jump." The word barely left his mouth before the building shook violently, and a cloud of plaster and dust descended from the ceiling like a curtain. The two of them leapt through the window—in part with the help of the concussion behind them—and fell one story, before crashing through the window of the adjacent building.

Jensen wasn't sure how long he had been laying there before he felt an arm around his torso, pulling him up through the debris that the blast had showered them with. His head was swimming, and he couldn't tell whether it was his eyes or the dust that was making it so damn hard to see. He steadied himself and leaned against the wall, still able to feel the warmth of the fire, and knowing that he should probably move further away, but not really caring.

"You okay, Cougar?" Jensen asked, rubbing some of the dirt off of his face and wincing at the cuts he'd received from the broken glass. Cougar's response was to slap him upside the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You could have died." Cougar glared.

"Same to you." Jensen replied. They locked eyes defiantly, before Jensen broke the silence. "Do you still have your radio?" Cougar held his gaze for moment longer before getting to his feet—somewhat unsteadily—and offering Jensen a hand.

"No, I left it. But… This is the building you said you were on. The others should be up." He said curtly as he pulled Jensen to his feet.

"So, how did you stop the timer?" Jensen asked, kicking aside a particularly large chunk of desk blocking the door. Cougar shrugged.

"I shot it." Jensen stopped and gave Cougar a disbelieving look.

"You shot at a bomb so that it _wouldn't_ explode…" Jensen mumbled with a smirk, shaking his head. Jensen began to pick his way through the remnants of the debris in the room, but was stopped by the hand on his wrist. He turned to Cougar with a slightly confused look.

"You would have died. Next time you might." Cougar said, this time almost a whisper against the chaotic scene. Jensen stopped in his tracks, but he didn't respond. After a pause he nodded slowly.

"I know." He looked Cougar in the eyes, "But I would rather die alone, than live with any of your deaths on my head. And I mean that." He smirked and threw an arm over Cougar's shoulder, pulling him close. "Although I do appreciate the save." Cougar seemed much less amused than Jensen and stepped out of the others embrace with a frown. He ran a hand through the other's hair as he passed on the way out the door.

"Do it again, I'll shoot you myself. And I mean that." Jensen gave a mock-salute and then followed after him out the door, leaving only a broken window, debris, and the sirens and screams of those who reached the scene of the explosion first. Because although he knew that Cougar was, most likely, entirely serious, that wasn't going to make him change his outlook. The team would always come before the individual—always.

**Thus concluding this story, though there may be an epilogue to follow. I've also been working on a sort of past-fic (I've had Jensen's done since about an hour after I first saw the movie, but I've been holding off on posting it until I had more of the other Losers' pasts plotted) So, until then, keep being awesome!**


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